


The Foreboding Castle

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Macbeth - Shakespeare
Genre: Gen, Gothic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: The castle stood out blackly against the skyline, foreboding even at a distance, dark clouds hovering above it as if to speak of dark deeds inside.
Collections: Stage of Fools 2020





	The Foreboding Castle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marcelo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcelo/gifts).



The castle belonging to the Thane of Cawdor, now the King of Scotland, stood out blackly against the skyline, foreboding even at a distance, dark clouds hovering above it as if to speak of dark deeds inside. Most travellers made a wide circuit to avoid it, fearing whatever may lie within its walls.

Having rung the bell, the visitor was forced to wait outside its massive gate until the drunken porter finally peered through the spyhole and then, satisfied as to the visitor’s identity, the gate creaked open as far as absolutely necessary, before being slammed shut again.

Once inside, the courtyard was completely empty, apart from a black cat creeping along on the far side. The porter had retreated to his spot where his jug of ale waited, and the visitor was left alone.

Up close, the castle looked even more bleak. The dark stones towered upwards. The windows, few as they were, seemed shuttered, and only a little light shone through the arrow slits. The visitor headed to where he knew there was a side door and waited in the shadows until a servant carrying a bucket opened the door. He slipped inside, the hood of his cloak pulled close around his head, ignored by the young girl as she scurried to fill her bucket from the well.

The visitor made his way to the great hall. There the king strode back and forward, apparently in conversation with someone, although there was no-one visible. He sounded half deranged, at times triumphant, at other times despairing, his words a mixture of ‘I’m safe, but what if?’ The visitor was satisfied; Macbeth feared MacDuff, as well he might, having killed his wife and family. If MacDuff caught Macbeth, the former’s vengeance would be merciless.

From the great hall, the visitor made his way to the passageway which led to the chamber where Duncan had been killed. The rumours were right; the stones of the passage shone bright red, as if covered in freshly shed blood. There was evidence that they had been recently scrubbed, but that had only served to highlight the blood.

A piercing scream from one of the castle’s towers made the visitor’s blood run cold. It was said that the madwoman’s scream could be heard in the nearest village several miles away, and the visitor could believe it was true. Clearly Lady Macbeth was falling deeper into the malady which had gripped her.

Satisfied the reports they had heard were true, the visitor returned once more to the great hall. This time he made his presence known to King Macbeth.

“My Lord,” he said, bowing low.

“Who are you?” Macbeth demanded.

“I come from the Lord of the Isles,” the visitor replied. “He wishes to know how you are and whether you have need of anything from him.”

“Thank your lord and tell him I have all I need. We are quite safe here and will remain so until the ends of time, or Great Birnam Woods come to Dunsinane Hill.”

The visitor bowed again. “I will indeed tell him, My Lord. And now I must depart, for I have many miles to travel before nightfall.”

“Go!” Macbeth turned away; the audience was over.

The visitor left the castle and, with difficulty, roused the porter to open the gate. 

To begin with the visitor rode his horse in a westerly direction, but once satisfied he was out of sight and had not been followed, he changed direction and headed south. It took him two days hard riding before he reached his destination. There, he demanded to be taken at once to Malcolm.

Malcolm greeted him warmly. “Come, shed your cloak and warm yourself by the fire. Take a cup of wine. We shall eat soon, but I do not wish to wait to hear your news. What do you have to tell me?”

“Everything is as we have heard, Macbeth remains shut up within his castle, and the number of supporters deserting him increases day by day. We shall not meet much in the way of resistance until we reach the castle.”

“That is good. And what of Macbeth himself, did you see him?”

“Both saw him and spoke to him. His wife is completely mad, but I think there is some madness in him too. He speaks much to ghosts. He fears Lord Macduff and yet, at the same time, believes himself untouchable.”

“Macduff will have other thoughts on that matter.”

“Indeed, my Lord. Macbeth also seems to hold some idea that he cannot be attacked until Great Birnam Woods come to Dunsinane Hill. I have been thinking about that.”

Malcolm nodded. “That perhaps we could cut branches from the trees in Birnam Woods and use them to camouflage our attack.”

“Precisely, my Lord. I believe their very presence would serve to unsettle him.”

“This is all excellent news. Come let us eat. I will introduce you to some of my other lords and in particular, Macduff, who will be delighted to hear your news.”

The visitor nodded and followed Malcolm to the dining hall. 

As they entered, Malcolm said, “My lords, this young man brings us news of Macbeth, news which gives me much encouragement for our planned attack on the castle. May I present to you, Lord Fleance, son of Banquo.”

The young man was welcomed to the table, and being hungry after his recent travels, he began to eat whilst those around him discussed the plans for their forthcoming attack. It seemed strange to think he had so recently spoken to the man he hated. He wondered whether his father would have expected him to attack Macbeth then, to avenge his death. But that would have, in all probability, led to his own death. Far better to proceed this way, to let Malcolm lead the attack and for Macduff to kill Macbeth, so the blood would not be on his hands. Fleance had no doubt the crown was going to come to him at some point, but there was no point in acting too soon, far better to build up his own power base first and take the throne when the time was right.


End file.
